


Scared (Not So) Straight

by debilitas



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, F/F, F/M, M/M, all of this sin, ashamed author is ashamed, i apologize for the title in advance, i love italics!! theres so many italics in here, i mean how could you look at a group this large and not wonder how they'd make it in prison, im sorry, little bit of everything but mostly gay, mentions of mental illness? but nothing inherently triggering i dont think, no homo tho, the absolutely obligatory prison au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5105864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debilitas/pseuds/debilitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight, Chris had done a lot of dumb things in his life. There was the time he “borrowed” his mother’s credit card to pay for a month-long subscription to a popular MMO at the time, or when he accepted his childhood friend’s dare to jump into the deep end of the pool when he was still only five feet tall and couldn’t swim. He’d done these and more, but besides downloading music online for free, (who even paid for music anymore?), or occasionally streaming the latest Sci-Fi film, he’d never done anything both dumb and illegal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i researched as much as i could on appropriate sentencing, but i couldnt find anything similar to chris' predicament so i did have to take liberties with that  
> i blame this entire thing on my IG mutuals for egging me on tbh  
> [my tumblr](http://killedtherichkid.tumblr.com)

In hindsight, Chris had done a lot of dumb things in his life. There was the time he “borrowed” his mother’s credit card to pay for a month-long subscription to a popular MMO at the time, or when he accepted his childhood friend’s dare to jump into the deep end of the pool when he was still only five feet tall and couldn’t swim. He’d done these and more, but besides downloading music online for free, (who even paid for music anymore?), or occasionally streaming the latest Sci-Fi film, he’d never done anything both dumb and illegal.  


Until he hacked into a bank.  


He’d swore up and down that he’d never intended to do so, that he’d only been dicking around, seeing just how far he could get in those seemingly infinite lines of code when he got too far. He didn’t take any money, but the damage had been done. Good with computers but an inexperienced hacker, he left countless clues that led the police directly to him.  


It was a quick trial: he squeezed into a suit, pled guilty, received 6 months in a co-ed, minimum security prison. He wouldn’t be sharing a cell with any serial killers, just drug dealers, their junkies, and people just as dumb as he’d been.  


Six months wasn’t that long, right? Half a year. In half a year he could resume his almost good paying job, living in an almost nice apartment with a very nice girlfriend.  


Ashley was as sympathetic to his predicament as one could be, gave him a concise kiss and said she’d wait for him to return and visit whenever her schedule allowed. Still, she stayed at home the day he was detained, sweater and name exchanged for orange scrubs and a drawn-out number.  


“You’ll memorize it soon enough,” the officer that had searched him said disinterestedly. The officer was both extremely tall and extremely fat, and made Chris wonder if not knowing the first name of a man who’d seen you naked was commonplace in Blackwood Penitentiary.  


After getting his designated scrubs with a white long sleeve underneath, shoes that fit too tight on his wide feet and a pillow shoved into his arms he was escorted deeper into the building by a stocky officer with dark curls and surprisingly friendly eyes. He carried himself just like the jocks that had tormented Chris throughout high school, uniform and weapons hooked to his belt making him look extremely intimidating, even though his head barely reached Chris’ shoulder.  


“You’ll get a work assignment tomorrow after breakfast. That’s at seven thirty, lunch at noon, dinner at four. Did you put any money into your account?”  


“Y-Yeah,” Chris stammered, tightening his grip on the thin pillow as they passed an incredibly sad-looking prisoner. His father had yet to speak to him since his trial, but grudgingly put a little over three hundred dollars into his son’s account.  


“You use that for commissary. Toiletries, snacks, just small things like that.” The officer tightened his grip on Chris’ arm as they took a sharp left, passing more and more orange-garbed inmates with charming face tattoos. “This is minimum security, but still prison…” he squinted, reading the laminated name tag on Chris’ shirt. “Chris. Don’t forget where you are, keep your head down, and you’ll be fine.” They turned into an expansive room, filled with waist-high walls that formed boxes with two bunks on either side, a cube-shaped room with windows positioned at the far end, a very bored-looking officer sitting inside, flipping through a magazine.  


“You’re in the third one on the left. Bunkies with…” He tilted his head toward the radio on his shoulder. “Who’s in 3A?”  


“Munroe,” A choppy yet bored voice replied.  


The officer did little to contain his grimace. “Munroe.” he echoed, turning to leave.  


“Wait, what’s wrong with Munroe? Sir?”  


“He’s not violent,” Was all the kind-eyed officer said before exiting.  


Chris swallowed, holding his pillow at his chest like a shield as he approached the bunk, to find the infamous Munroe already inside, laying on his back, eyes closed. The sleeves to his shirt were ragged and torn, and the words _Mikey Boy_ had been scribbled at the collar in permanent marker. How quaint.  


“Left bed’s yours. I wouldn’t recommend sleeping face-down.”  


“Why not?” Chris asked, slowly approaching the bed, taking a seat on the dull grey blanket. _Mikey Boy_ definitely wasn’t violent, but he also didn’t even seem interested in anything besides the backs of his eyelids.  


“Get’s lonely in here, kid. Sometimes a blanket’s the closest you can get to a piece of ass.” He finally opened his eyes, swinging his feet off the mattress to face Chris. “Name’s Michael, friends call me Mike.” he extended a hand.  


“Chris.” He went for a handshake, but encountered a fumbling fist bump instead. “...Are we friends?”  


Mike’s lips upturned in a wry smile. “I like you, Chris. What’re you in for?”  


“I hacked into a bank. It was completely by accident—”  


“Ooh! We got ourselves a genius.” Mike interrupted, clapping his hands together, rubbing his palms. “I’m pretty smart myself. I’d challenge you to a game of chess in the rec room if all the pieces didn’t smell like piss,”  


In spite of the circumstances, the massive bald man a few feet away staring daggers at him, and the rumored chess pieces that smelled like piss, Mike’s borderline apathetic attitude and casual way of talking calmed Chris immensely. If all of the inmates were going to be as laid back as Mike, it would be an immensely easier six months.  


“What’d you do?”  


Mike scrubbed at the back of his head, mouth slightly ajar. “I was on my school’s football team. I was already the best one out there, but my dumb ass decided I wanted to be the _best_ of the best. So, my dumb ass started taking illegal,” Air quotes, “Enhancement drugs,” End air quotes. “So, here my dumb ass sits.”  


“How long you got?”  


“Getting a little nosy, Chris.” Mike sighed. “Two years.” Chris couldn’t contain his surprised whistle, earning a ghost of a smile. “But the rest of these assholes won’t be as...forthcoming.”  


Before they could exchange anymore words, an obnoxiously loud alarm resounded throughout the room, loud enough to make Chris’ ears ring and shrill enough to disturbingly remind him of high school.  


“What the hell’s that?”  


“Dinner, man. Come on,” They stood, Mike giving Chris a firm slap onto his back. “It’s taco night.”

* * *

Taco night turned out to be meat of questionable origin with cheese sprinkled on it, a cup of green Jello, and a carton of milk. _Just_ like high school.  


Chris accepted his tray with unsteady hands, feeling all eyes on him from both the inmates serving him food and the ones already seated.  


“Why are they all looking at me like that?” Chris whispered to Mike, who had charmed one of the women working into another cup of Jello.  


“Sizing you up, probably. Lots of guys dig blond hair,”  
They turned away from the line, toward the rows of metal benches and tables.  


“Oh god. You’re not…”  


“Don’t worry. I don’t swing that way,” Mike shoved some of the mystery meat into his mouth as they walked. “Look, I don’t care if you follow me around like a lost dog, but easy with the questions, alright? I’m not a tour guide.”  


Chris nodded in affirmation, tailing behind Mike as he approached a table at the center of the cafeteria, two women already seated at it: one with a dark bob haircut and an unfriendly face, the other with messy braids and tired eyes, a single cut on her cheek.  


“Fresh meat,” the woman with the bob commented, stabbing at her food with unwarranted aggression.  


“Did you get my Jello?” the blonde woman asked, voice only slightly kinder than the other’s.  


“Of course, darling,” Mike replied, taking a seat across from the blonde, sliding the cup across the table. The blonde smiled, slowly blinking her hooded eyes, lids carrying a layer of black eyeshadow that Chris doubted would be allowed to be worn by an inmate less attractive.  


“Hold the fuck up,” the second woman said as Chris tried to take the seat beside his bunkmate. “Who’re you?”  


“Emily, don’t be rude—”  


“Oh shut up, Mike. I don’t know this asshole. He could be some weirdo!”  


“Em, It’s prison! We’re all weirdos!” The blonde laughed breathily through her mouthful of Jello.  


“I won’t ask again, blondie.”  


“Jesus Christ. His name’s Chris, and he robbed a bank. Calm the fuck down.”  


Emily scowled, but did not protest a second time as Chris took finally took his seat. His stomach growled, but the cold food on his heavy tray was about as appealing as Emily’s attitude.  


“I didn’t rob a bank. I hacked into one, and I didn’t even get any money.”  


“Lame.” The blonde chimed in.  


“Jess is right,” Mike added. “Just tell everyone you robbed a bank. Sounds cooler.”  


“ _Get the fuck in there, Washington_!”  


While the three people at his table and everyone else in the cafeteria seemed unperturbed by the sudden yelling, Chris immediately looked up from his mediocre meal, toward the double doors at the other end of the room as they burst open, an inmate strutting inside with inappropriate confidence, the same guard that had escorted Chris to his bunk trailing behind him with a frown.  


“Psycho’s back,” Mike mumbled, earning sparse laughter from the two women opposite him.  


Psycho? Mikey Boy was a ridiculous nickname, but an innocent one. Nobody called someone Psycho affectionately, or even picked it out for themselves on the street. No, Psycho was either derogatory or a warning.  


Chris attempted to watch the potential psychopath while keeping his gaze low, avoiding eye contact as if visiting a dangerous animal. Said Psycho looked almost too young to be in prison, eyes emerald and wide if not a little wild, curly hair lazily pushed back, but strands sticking out in every direction behind his ears. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip, looking too close to a TV villain for comfort.  


Bright eyes roamed the cafeteria before settling on Chris’ table, sending a chill down his spine that only intensified as he took the steps toward the table.  


“So they finally let you outta solitary?” Mike asked, starting on his carton of milk.  


“Hell, yeah.” He offered up his hand for a fist bump, but was left hanging. “Did you miss me?”  


“Nobody in their right mind would miss you,” Jess butted in.  


“Aw, love you too, Jess.” he replied with a wink before focusing his attention on Chris. His gaze was almost predatory, making him briefly consider if the prison actually did house murderers. “You replacing me, Mike?”  


“Nobody could replace you, Josh,” Mike replied with a sneer, voice almost weighed down by loathing.  


“I’m touched.” Josh replied, taking the seat beside Chris, but not speaking to him for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Despite being referred to as psycho, Josh came off about as sane as the average person, if not a tad odd. He didn’t eat, mumbled enough that it left some of his words incoherent, and fidgeted uncontrollably, but still kept a broad smile on his face. While no one mentioned them, Chris had quickly noticed the healing wounds on his knuckles. The only way he’d be more obvious was if he had a neon sign of the word _junkie_ flashing over his head.  


The two guards in the cafeteria seemed apathetic to every shout or insult, remaining quiet unless someone happened to touch someone else. So Chris gathered that threatening to cut someone’s dick off and staple it to their forehead was 100% allowed, as long as you didn’t happen to brush against that person’s hand while doing so.  


His first day in prison was about as normal as a day in prison could be: nobody declared him their prison wife or shanked him, which was quite the miracle if what he’d seen on television was even remotely true.  


Any remaining privileges were stripped away after dinner: everyone went to their assigned bunks; Chris with Mike, Josh in the bed closest to the officer on duty, nose shoved into a celebrity gossip magazine from 2008, and Jess and Emily wherever the women’s ward was located.  


Chris settled into bed at the humble hour of 8:30pm, having to stop himself from instinctively reaching to check a phone that was not there. The energy efficient lights above the bunks dimmed, but did not turn off.  


Only 182 days to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i get most of my writing done at 2am after drinking way too much pepsi  
> again, i blame my mutuals (and ur comments <3)  
> [my tumblr](http://killedtherichkid.tumblr.com)  
> update: i just realized that matt is actually unreasonably tall im an embarrassment

Chris awoke from a fitful sleep, the lights above him and his mattress covered in suspicious stains making him less than comfortable. In the first few minutes of consciousness he’d almost forgotten that he was incarcerated, until he turned onto his side to see Mike and Josh. He would’ve said hello, if the two men weren’t very busy.  


Mike laid sprawled out on his back whilst Josh hung halfway off the bed, hands flat against his hips and dick down his throat. For someone that had claimed to be straight only a day prior, Mike seemed to be enjoying himself, lips curled in a pleased smile, brows knitted together. Chris watched with an almost morbid curiosity, like he’d awoken to an extremely visceral car crash. With genitalia.  


Josh demonstrated a complete lack of a gag reflex, working at Mike with the leisure Chris suspected they didn’t have time for. After a few tense moments accompanied only by disturbingly wet sounds, Mike’s eyes fluttered open and caught Chris’ gaze. Instead of responding with embarrassment or rage as he’d expected, he simply shook his head and brought a finger to his lips. Chris nodded to the best of his ability, turning back over to face the wall.  


There were definitely worse ways to start the day, but none came to mind.

* * *

After the lights above them returned to their original, underwhelming state and a guard walked through the center of the room, hitting his baton on each short wall while barking orders, Chris had his first experience with a communal bathroom, where he discovered that the rule about not standing next to another man while peeing no longer existed, and watched his second display of male affection that morning while brushing his teeth.  


“Fuckin’ disgusting,” Mike had commented, and Chris could not hold back his stare of utter disbelief, toothpaste dripping from his lip. Whatever homophobia Mike harbored, it was on a new plane of denial.  


“ _Oh, no homo bro, but thanks for sucking my dick this morning, that was better than a cup of coffee. Did I mention no homo_?”  


Mike remained quiet and brooding on their way and during breakfast, only breaking his mask to quip at Emily and Jess accordingly.  


One fight broke out over a stolen carton of orange juice, and his own lack of surprise deeply disturbed Chris. Had gay sex and violence really become commonplace after only one day?  


Josh arrived late yet again, just as Emily and Jess had begun a mock sword fight with their plastic forks. Unlike the previous day, he went through the line, taking only the cold eggs and lukewarm orange juice. He took his same seat next to Chris heavily, plastic tray clanging against the metal table.  


“Sorry about giving you a hard time earlier, Cochise.”  


Chris choked on his mouthful of of tasteless food, only egging Josh on. No pun intended.  


“Yeah, I was a real dick.”  


“What the hell does Cochise mean?” Emily interjected, taking a break from her swordfight.  


“It was the name of some chief back in the day,” Josh snorted. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”  


“I _am_ smart. Your nicknames are just stupid.”  


Chris wondered just how smart someone could be if they’d ended up in prison, then quickly realized that could be applied to himself. He’d been examining his fellow inmates like an outsider, as if he wasn’t in the same uniform, eating the same bad food, sleeping in the same uncomfortable beds under the same lights. They were all different people guilty of different things, but had one thing in common: they got caught.  


Another alarm sounded, more tension cementing into Chris as he noticed just how quickly he fell into line to return his tray. While the last thing he wanted to do was make eye contact with Josh, he was the closest recognizable person to him, and he figured Mike’s patience with his incessant questions had run thin, especially after what he’d witnessed that morning.  


“I’m supposed to get a work assignment today. Where do I go for that?”  


He shrugged. “Dunno. What C.O. picked you up yesterday?”  


“Uh, short guy? Curly hair?”  


“Everyone’s short compared to you.” Josh paused, awaiting a laugh, clearing his throat when he did not receive one. “Name’s Matt. Nice guy. Em knew him on the outside, so I wouldn’t open that can of worms. Find his office, he’ll tell you.” He leaned into him, their backs turned to the supervising officers. “Let’s hope you get electrical.”

* * *

Chris, in fact, did not get assigned to electrical. Instead, he was shuffled down a shady-looking flight of stairs where a mass of washing machines and dryers rested. Matt had muttered something about the last inmate that had been in his position could no longer do so because of ‘medical complications’. Chris translated this into ‘the last guy in your place got stabbed let’s hope you don’t okay thanks bye’.  


Matt gestured toward a large table in the center of the room before retreating. Though there seemed to be only three female inmates present, he still found unease at the concept of staying in a dimly lit room alone with convicts and big machines.  


“Hey, newbie,” the blonde across the table greeted, folding what seemed to an excessively large bedsheet. “What’s your name?”  


A tired-looking inmate with short hair approached the table, dumping out a laundry basket before turning and heading back toward the machines. Chris picked up a pair of pants, beginning to fold with shaky hands. Folding. He could handle folding. Folding pants with a nice blonde lady was a lot easier than working with electronics alongside someone whose nickname was Psycho.  


“Chris.”  


“Welcome to laundry duty, Chris. I’m Sam, that was Beth just now, and by the washers is Hannah.” She finished folding the sheet into a neat square, placing it onto another table. Chris followed suit. “...You okay, Chris? You seem a little out of it.”  


“Yeah. Just getting used to everything,” Chris replied, starting on another pair of pants. Talking to Sam was a lot easier than talking to Mike’s group of friends: he didn’t worry that she’d jump across the table and strangle him at any moment.  


“Does it feel like you’re underwater? My first few days were like an unsanitary scuba diving trip with bad food.” She waited until Chris smiled to do so herself. “You seem almost too nice to be in here."  


“I could say the same for you,” Another pair of pants. “...I accidentally hacked into a bank.”  


Sam winced. “That sucks. How much time you got?”  


“Six months.”  


“That’s not too bad. Me? I got one year, already done three months.”  


“What’d you do?”  


“First degree trespassing. A local business got caught testing on animals and other horrible...things. My friends and I snuck in, spraypainted some stuff. Han back there had the idea to throw some fake blood on the walls. Our ‘friends’ said we were the ones behind it all, just so they wouldn’t serve any time.”  


“Sorry,”  


“It’s fine. What’s done is done.”

* * *

After spending another few hours with laundry up to his ears, another alarm sounded and Sam led him to a rack of coats and worn out beanies. They suited up just in time for a C.O. Chris did not recognize to guide the four inmates upstairs and into a line headed outside.  


The yard was as exhilarating as the inside of the prison: the sky just as grey and unfeeling as the barbed wire decorating the fences around them. The fenced in area featured two picnic tables, a bench press that was occupied by a terrifying man with an eyepatch, and a set of bleachers sporadically coated in what Chris prayed was simply red spray paint.  


Chris hovered alongside the trio of women, but quickly noticed the dynamic between Sam and Hannah, gradually separating from their group to take a seat on the bleachers, bouncing his knees for warmth. His isolation was yet another parallel of high school, but at least he'd had a phone filled with games and music to occupy himself during fourth period gym class.  


He removed his glasses, pretending to wipe away dust on his sleeve to glance around the yard, in search of anyone he recognized or who didn't look particularly dangerous. Nothing. The majority of the inmates present were female, huddled together in their own cliques, or men with sleeves of tattoos doing push-ups on the concrete.  


Chris considered joining them, dedicating his 6 months of incarceration to getting fit. He pictured Ashley's surprise if he came home with washboard abs and maybe even a neck tattoo.  


_Ashley_. Between fights over orange juice and folding other people's clothes, he had no time to think of his girlfriend.  


They'd met in high school, bonding over their own dorkiness and disdain for athletics, developing blatant crushes they’d first acted on while drunk at a graduation party. Ashley was the whole package: smart, pretty, still interested even after witnessing his grunge phase in freshman year, and didn't complain about his affiliation for terrible Sci-Fi movies. But could they survive so long without being able to have intimate conversations or go after one another when angry? Ashley had promised to visit him, but speaking through glass was no way to uphold a relationship.

* * *

“Are you and Josh together?”  


“Fuck off, Chris.”  


“I’m just saying,” Chris turned to face his bunkmate, tugging his blanket to his chin. “You guys seemed pretty close this morning.”  


“I said fuck off.”  


“Should I be expecting to wake up to another blowjob?”  


“Don’t know. You asking? Because Josh’s right over there. I can ask him for you,”  


“That’s not what I meant-”  


“Look, you’re outta line. If you were talking this way to any other guy they’d break your nose.” Mike ran a hand over his face. “You think I don’t wanna have some sweet girl in my lap? I told you yesterday: it gets lonely in here. So lonely that sometimes it doesn’t matter whose lips are wrapped around your dick. People in here aren’t gay, they’re not in love. They’re desperate.”  


Chris quieted down, returning to his back. Would he give into desperation during his six month stay? He’d never been one with an incredibly high sex drive, and he and Ashley’s schedules collided enough to make intimacy almost impossible. Having to depend on his right hand was not uncommon, but he severely doubted his ability to keep it up surrounded by other men.

* * *

Josh was absent during the following breakfast, making Chris’ sad meal quieter, if not lonelier. Emily and Jess made no effort to speak to him, only directing the occasional harsh critique of his appearance, and while Mike did not ignore him, his replies were curt, even by his own standards. Chris wanted to apologize for his intrusive questions the previous evening, but doubted that apologies in prison started and ended in _sorry_.  


He found himself looking forward to laundry duty, Sam in particular. She was a welcome change to harsh glares and plastic fork sword fights.  


“Do you know Josh Washington?”  


Sam tensed, brief enough that if he’d blinked he would’ve missed it before she resumed folding an almost comically sized pair of boxers. “Yeah. Knew him in high school.” she glanced back toward the twins, who were removing clothing from dryers and placing them into baskets. “Han and Beth are his sisters.”  


“Seriously?” What a model family.  


“Don’t make that face. They’re good people. Why are you asking about Josh?”  


“Kinda wanna know why my bunkmate calls him Psycho,”  


“Mike does love his nicknames.” Sam laughed without humor. “Josh was a troubled kid. Always a little lonely, y’know? Just…”  


“Off?”  


“Yeah. Not enough to make anyone do anything, but enough to make you worry.”  


Chris nodded, starting on an uncomfortably stained pillowcase.  


“He got real bad senior year. Started drinking. Pretty much anything that hurt him, he was all over it. He...sees things. Even without getting high. His parents eventually got him help, but every day was a fight. He’d take his meds for awhile, then just stop. I tried...try...to be a good friend, but we don’t see each other that much anymore. But I don’t think he’d wanna see me anyway.”  


“Why not?” Chris asked, bracing for a sharp retort that never came. She simply sighed, her gaze stern.  


“I think this place is good for Josh. He can’t drink anymore, and the women here have a chokehold on the cigarette distribution. He gets fed, supervised, and he has to take his meds or they’ll put him in solitary.”  


“And Josh disagrees?”  


“Most definitely.”  


The conversation trailed off, a tension settling between them that had not been present prior to Chris’ questions. But one still rested on his tongue:  


“What did he do?”  


Sam finally looked up from the laundry, offering a tight smile. “It’s not my place to say.”

* * *

Chris could say with confidence that he survived his first week of prison. His schedule was not difficult to adapt to: wake up, eat whatever monstrosity had been cooked for breakfast, fold underwear, sit outside quietly, eat lunch, talk about his feelings with Matt, eat dinner, sleep, and repeat.  


Though he’d never said it aloud, Matt was his counselor. Chris doubted that they’d have even one conversation if they’d met under any other circumstances, but appreciated that Matt both listened to him attentively, and didn’t refer to him as _inmate_. He also always ‘accidentally’ bought two cups of coffee, but like many things between them, neither brought it up.  


While Matt had established that he could open up to him about anything, Chris hovered around any issues, deflecting anything he deemed too serious with humor, or simply turning the question around. He defended his actions as trying to stay optimistic, but, he could not truthfully say spending a mere week locked up had left him unchanged. The people around him were not bad people, only victims of circumstance.  


Emily and Jess’ demise was their insecurities expertly hidden behind arrogance, Mike’s his eagerness to please others. Sam and the twins were compassionate, desperate to defend innocent lives. Josh, while his crime was still a mystery, constantly had a metaphorical arm twisted by his own brain. Chris could even see his own faults: he could never take anything, _anything_ seriously. He’d avoided the guilt of hacking into that goddamn bank by telling anyone that would listen that it was just a mistake.  


It was time for him to face the consequences of his actions, and prison was just the place to do that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it gets gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early(?) update, huzzah! this one does have mentions of self harm scars, but no actual self harm is committed, just in case you’re sensitive to that kind of thing  
> it also gets gay. gotta love sin.  
> [my tumblr](http://killedtherichkid.tumblr.com)

Chris balanced a decrepit copy of _Cujo_ atop his knees, only freeing his fingers from the warm confines of his coat pockets to turn a page every few minutes. He’d found the book stuck underneath one of the washing machines, and while he wasn’t a fan of Stephen King and the book was missing many pages, it was a welcome distraction to his usual activity of staring blankly ahead while the other inmates conversed.  


He rubbed at his nose, idly glancing upward to see an extremely distressed Mike half-jogging, half-limping toward his spot on the bleachers. While he had no business being outside at that time, the guards seemed to either not notice or care as he nearly collapsed beside Chris.  


“ _Jesus hot sauce Christmas cake_ ,” Mike breathed, rubbing his exposed forearms for warmth. “I have definitely fucked up this time. ...Whatcha reading?”  


“Wait, what was that about Jesus?”  


“Huh? I didn’t say anything about Jesus.” Mike glanced backward. “Excuse me,” he spun himself around, sliding underneath the bleachers with unexpected grace, crouching behind Chris’ knees. “Psst. Close your legs,”  


Chris slowly complied, still trying to catch sight of what Mike was hiding from. “What exactly are you doing?”  


“Shh. I’m not here.”  


Chris shrugged off his bunkmate’s strange behavior: he’d caught on quickly that the best way to make it through prison was to ignore the entirety of prison. As long as Mike didn’t drag him into anything, he was content to rent his legs out as a hiding spot.  


But, of course, Mike had already dragged him into his own drama.  


Three burly men approached the bleachers, all bearing similar tattoos on their foreheads, their name tags not present, so Chris unofficially decided to call them Forehead Tattoo 1, 2, and 3.  


“Kid, you seen Munroe around?” Forehead Tattoo 1 asked, voice raw from presumably years of smoking.  


“No,” Chris replied, closing his book. “He’s on a different schedule than me,”  


“We know you’re his bunkie, man,”  


“I haven’t seen him since breakfast,” Chris replied, subtly kicking backward under his seat, sole of his shoe becoming well acquainted with Mike’s face.  


Forehead Tattoo 1 gave him dirty look, but crossed his gargantuan arms in resignation before turning and departing with his two equally intimidating companions. Chris waited until they’d returned indoors before leaning forward, head between his knees.  


“Can you please explain why I just had to lie to three guys that look like they could _bench press_ me?”  


“They could do so much more than bench press you,” Mike replied, gingerly rubbing at his recently kicked face. “But thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” Chris watched his bunkmate clunkily climb out from underneath the bleachers, hissing as his back scraped against the cold metal.  


“Yeah, well, if something happened to you, who knows what kind of person I’d be roomed with,”  


“Got a point there,” Mike snatched the copy of _Cujo_ away, opening it up beside his face to conceal it. “Okay, you’re smart—”  


“I never said I was smart—”  


“You hacked into a bank, and just lied to three drug dealers without getting punched. You’re smart. Anyway,” he cast another nervous glance around the yard. “Me and them had this deal going, right? I do something for them, they don’t beat the shit out of me. But now I don’t have that...something anymore, and I need your advice.”  


“Is this a gay thing?”  


“Goddamnit, Chris, no. I told you I’m not gay.” Mike pulled the book closer to his face, leaning toward the blond, whispering, “I was hooking them up with drugs,”  


“You’re a drug dealer?” Chris exclaimed, only to be shushed. “If someone found out…”  


“Look, I’m not worried about the guards finding out, man, I’m worried about getting my teeth kicked in. And I’m not like _them_ , alright?”  


“I don’t know if you know this, Mike, but exchanging drugs does in fact make you a drug dealer,”  


“I’m a white, middle class football player. I grew up in a two story house in the suburbs, and was class president. I’m not a fucking drug dealer. ...I was giving them Psycho’s, I mean, Josh’s meds,”  


“ _What_?” Chris hissed, pulling the book away. “He needs those,”  


“I’m not stupid. You haven’t even seen him off his happy pills...That’s some scary shit. We figured out that he can take a little less than his dosage without completely losing it, and I owed those guys something: I fucked up a lot when I first got in here. But now he won’t let me anywhere near the damn pills.”  


“You want my advice on how to take away a mentally ill person’s medication and hand it over to drug dealers?”  


Mike opened his mouth, only to close it and begin to nod. “Not how I’d word it, but yeah.”

* * *

Chris held his meager roll of toilet paper underneath his arm as he shuffled toward the bathrooms, squinting both from his lack of glasses and the absence of light in the quiet corridors. Prison was surprisingly quiet at night; no clanging of metal against metal, and not even the angriest of inmates had the energy to fight at two in the morning.  


He’d exited his stall, alarmed to see Josh sitting atop the counter of sinks. Amongst the shadows he no longer looked wild or scary. He simply looked tired.  


“Wash your hands. I don’t bite.”  


Chris approached the sink whilst clearing his throat. “What’re you doing?”  


“The meds—and I know you know about them—keep me up sometimes.” Josh leaned his head back against the mirror behind him, Adam’s apple bobbing. “And it’s quiet."  


Chris turned off the faucet, watching the rise and fall of Josh’s chest, hands resting in his lap and eye bags prominent. He bore no smile, exchanged no jokes. This was a gentler, more vulnerable side of him that was quite literally hidden by shadows.  


“What’re you staring at?” Josh mumbled, eyes still trained on the ceiling.  


“I was thinking about how Mike calls you Psycho,”  


“Yeah?”  


“And how you don’t seem like a psycho at all.”  


He snorted. “This is early morning, heavily sedated Josh. If you’d met me about two weeks ago, you’d be calling me Psycho along with everyone else.”  


“What Josh were you two weeks ago?”  


Josh finally met Chris’ gaze, face a mask of confusion, like he’d never been asked a question before.  


“Manic, danger-to-himself-and-others Josh.”  


“Still,” Chris replied, propping himself again the counter, suppressing a yawn. “'Psycho’ is a little cruel.”  


Josh moved his hand as if to touch Chris, only to immediately retract it. “God, this place is going to eat you alive.”

* * *

Chris made a habit of visiting the restroom in the wee hours of the morning to speak with Josh throughout the week. Their conversations were anything but meaningful, often ended prematurely by one unintentionally offending the other, but in such a lonely place, Chris found solace in their makeshift friendship, now that his one with Mike was on a slippery slope of drug dealing.  


On his second Friday in prison, Chris did not sit at his usual table, instead sitting across from Josh at a lonely table in the corner of the cafeteria.  


“Okay, elephant in the room,” Josh prompted, watching with an almost disgusted expression as Chris bit into his sad-looking sandwich.  


“Which one: Mike giving out your meds or me catching you giving him a blowjob?”  


Josh laughed, but nodded. “You got me there. But the second one.”  


“Mike says he’s just desperate,”  


“Mike says a lot of things. I don’t think he’s gay, but I also don’t think he doesn’t appreciate my...skills in that area.”  


Chris crossed his legs underneath the table. “Are you gay?”  


“That, my friend, is yet another can of worms you do not want to open.”  


"Understandable."  


Josh lightly kicked at Chris' shin, a subtle way of letting him know that he was completely aware of his guarded position.  


"You got anybody waiting for you, Cochise?"  


“Uh, girlfriend."  


Josh moved his hand in circle, gesturing for him to continue. "And? C'mon. Tell me about her."  


"Name's Ashley, known her a really long time. She's a writer."  


"As someone who had a dragged out, high school fling, I gotta say you two are doomed."  


Chris frowned. Did he mean Sam? She seemed emotionally invested, but it took a lot of strength to deal with Josh that long, especially in a relationship.  


"You've never even met her,"  


"But I've met you. In prison. That’s usually a deal breaker,"  


"We're different than that."  


The alarm signaling the end of lunch sounded. Josh merely shrugged. "Everyone thinks they're different."  


Fueled almost exclusively by spite, Chris slammed his tray into the return area and stalked out of the cafeteria toward Matt’s office, swinging the door open as aggressively as he thought he could get away with.  


“How do I have a visitor?”

* * *

Matt concisely explained the proper procedures to him, allowing him to use his own phone to call Ashley. She sounded almost surprised to hear from him, if not perturbed. They agreed on Saturday, at the designated time of noon.  


“I might be a little late,” she said, voice hushed as she tried to conceal the personal call from her boss.  


“Wrap it up,” Matt added.  


“That’s okay. I love you,”  


Ashley paused too long for comfort. “Love you, too.”

* * *

Chris had intended to break he and Josh’s ritual of bathroom conversations, but his bladder eventually won out over his grudge. He initially didn’t see him, writing it off as too late for Josh to be at his usual place on the sink, until he heard the distinct sound of one of the showers running.  


He’d taken his first shower on his fourth day, keeping his glasses on and practically clinging to Mike, praying that his bunkmate’s reputation could keep him safe. His hair barely got wet, and he didn’t even bother with drying off before putting his clothing back on.  


He took a curious glance around the corner with the knowledge that 4am showers weren’t exactly approved of, expecting to either bear witness to a quickie or early morning murder, but instead caught only Josh underneath the weak stream of water.  


His gaze lingered —he wasn't exactly hard to look at—on nowhere specific, until he noticed the array of scars along his wrists, all of varying depth and healing.  


Chris had his fair share of experience with self harm, being friends with multiple people guilty of it, but they'd never done it in such excess. The most obvious of the scars were vertical: he'd always thought those couldn't be stitched up.  


Josh turned around, cold water pooled in deep collarbones and dripping from thick lashes. He blinked before smirking broadly, making a come hither motion with his finger. Chris flushed but shook his head, ducking out of the bathroom without using it.

* * *

Anything before noon the following day was simply background noise. Chris' mind was only focused on Ashley, and by the time he was escorted into the visiting room, he nearly burst into tears.  


Ashley sat at a table in the far corner, hair hanging in front of her eyes, hands laced together. Chris approached her slowly, hovering as he recalled something about one hug being allowed at the beginning of each visit.  


"Ashley?"  


"Chris! Oh my god," she was immediately on her feet, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Chris leaned into the crook of her neck, relishing in the scent of her perfume and the feel of her cashmere sweater on his neck.  


"This is so weird," Ashley sighed as they took their seats.  


"Yeah, orange isn't my color,"  


"That's not funny," Ashley scolded, gently slapping the top of his hand, but smiled. "...It really isn't, though."  


Chris smiled back at her, immediately missing her touch. He'd never thought that only two weeks of separation could leave him so desperate for contact.  


"How're things?"  


“Busy. My mom’s been calling me so much. And you won’t believe what happened in the new episode of —“  


“No!” Chris interrupted with a nervous laugh. “Don’t tell me.”  


“Okay, okay,” Ashley’s laugh was much weaker. “I miss you. I’ve been so freaked out; I was kinda expecting you to have some gnarly scar on your face from a riot or something.”  


“No, no riots. Not yet, anyway. But there was this one thing involving some orange juice,”  


“That must’ve been some really good orange juice.”  


“Oh, the best. It’s all expired and warm,”  


“Yummy.”  


“I’ll bring you some next time. ...I’ve missed you so much,” Chris breathed. “Like, _so_ much. Everyone in here’s…”  


“Mean? Suspicious? A criminal?”  


“I’m a criminal, too,”  


“...That’s different.”  


“Everyone thinks they’re different.”

* * *

Chris’ heart was heavy as he exited the visitation area, only slightly annoyed by the mandatory pat-down. He’d expected Ashley’s visit to relieve any anxieties he’d had, but her presence had left him simply lonely, craving another hug or touch to his hand.  


He spent the remainder of the day on autopilot, mumbling out barely coherent replies whenever he was spoken to. He longed for the outside world, to sleep in the dark, to complain about his parents calling too frequently while binging on his favorite television shows. Normal. He wanted normal.  


Chris retreated to the bathroom earlier than normal that night, not bothering to bring anything along. He needed the relief of Josh’s mindless conversations, with or without their tense, less-than-heterosexual interaction the night before.  


“Hey, Cochise. What’s up?” Josh nibbled at his fingernails, coy grin faltering at the sight of the younger man’s distressed appearance. “Chris?”  


“I think you were right about this place eating me alive,” Chris mumbled, clambering onto the counter alongside Josh.  


Josh gave his knee a squeeze. “First visitation?”  


“Yeah.” His hand lingered, but Chris did not protest.  


“I know it sounds like bullshit, but it does get better. How long you got?”  


“Six months,”  


“See? That’s nothin’. You’ll be out soon enough. Just don’t mess with anymore banks.”  


Chris turned to face Josh, lips chapped and eyes bordering on bloodshot.  


“What happened to you?”  


Josh titled his head back and laughed. “Wow. That’s a loaded question.”  


“Ugh. Nevermind.” Chris rolled his eyes, lip curling into a smile. “Y’know, you’re the only person here that really listens to me.”  


“Mike—”  


“I said _listen_ , not talk. Mike’s too busy doing...whatever...he does to really care about what I’m saying.” he turned away, embarrassed by the sheer vulnerability of his own words. “Out there? I wouldn’t mind it, but it’s so much lonelier in here than I thought it’d be.”  


Josh’s hand maneuvered too high to still be friendly. “Yeah.”  


“What’re you—” Chris returned Josh’s gaze just as his hand slipped past the elastic waistband of his pants. He sucked in a breath, pressing a hand against the counter, knot already forming in his gut as Josh’s warm hand cupped his groin. “I...I can’t. Ashley,”  


“You’re lonely,” Josh whispered, lips only centimeters from his own. “I wanna help you. I wanna make you feel good,”  


Chris squirmed. He knew that a pity handjob in a prison bathroom was not a route he wanted to take in life, but it was just as difficult to deny the feeling of Josh’s fingers wrapped around his hardening cock, blatantly offering him release.  


He remained silent until Josh began to stroke him, releasing a whimper, head lulling back against the mirror behind them, hips bucking. Josh watched him attentively, but did not kiss him or make the slightest of noises. He was trained in the art of being intimate without intimacy, separating himself from any act for the sake of who was receiving. Mike and people like him could still claim to be straight afterward, as long as they did not do anything that cemented Josh’s presence.  


Chris could not dissociate himself with a clear conscience. As much as Josh hid it behind jokes and witty replies, he was vulnerable, insecure. The scars hidden by his sleeves were evidence enough. Just as the pad of his thumb swept over the weeping head, Chris took hold of the base of Josh’s skull, forcing them to make eye contact yet again.  


Chris expected to be turned off, the reality of another man’s hand down his pants to eradicate any desire, but if anything, Josh’s hooded eyes and full lips parted as he panted only cemented his arousal. Josh was as far from female as anyone could be: curves replaced by sharp hips, the ghost of facial hair decorating a prominent jaw. He wasn’t supposed to crave those chapped lips against his own, or on more intimate areas. If he tried to reciprocate, would Josh pull away?  


Only one way to find out.  


Josh looked legitimately surprised to see Chris’ hand wander downward, reeking of both uncertainty and inexperience, but did not pull away. If anything, he pushed himself closer, still refusing to break eye contact as they jerked one another off.  


Chris came first with his lip caught between his teeth, tearing his eyes away. Josh was not far behind, releasing a satisfied groan, pressing his forehead against the other man's temple. They freed their hands from one another's undergarments, wiping their palms clean on pant legs with grimaces.  


“That was kinda gross,” Chris muttered, exchange of laughter alleviating any tension between them.  


Josh bumped their heads together with a sated grin. "Maybe a little."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as much as i'd like to be, i'm not really good at this angst thing but i'm trying my best. there's also a lot of italics in here holy shit  
> [my tumblr](http://killedtherichkid.tumblr.com)

Chris and Josh's bathroom conversations ceased. Instead of bad puns and the discussion of tragic backstories, Chris joined him in his early morning showers, often fucked on or against various surfaces.

Josh was a surprisingly courteous lover, preaching about consent whenever the opportunity arose, and only ever getting rough if he was asked, or rather, begged to. He'd discovered that the guard that made rounds every Monday and Thursday was incredibly lenient, and snuck Chris into his bunk to share his outdated magazines and body heat throughout the night, where they filled their meaningless conversations quota. Anything too serious was dropped or joked about. 

Josh didn't bring up his arrangement with Mike, and Chris didn't ask. He was in no place to criticize a cheater. 

Their secret relationship made the days pass easier, even if Chris had the creeping feeling that Ashley could read _I got enthusiastically fucked by a slightly unstable inmate this morning_ every time their eyes met across the table in the visitation room. If she suspected him of being unfaithful, she did not let on. 

While he kept it hidden from nearly everyone, Chris could not lie to a prying Sam. She had known Josh the longest, knew what it was like to see the person past the illness. Her first reaction was an open-mouthed stare of shock, followed by a stifled giggle and a quip about how she never would have expected her long-time friend to be interested in such a _nerd_. 

Chris had considered if other inmates would have such tame reactions when Mike, as he was prone to doing, interrupted. 

" _Oh. My. God._ " 

Chris instinctively buried his face into the crook of Josh's neck in shame while he turned to face Mike, a protective hand on his thigh and a smug smirk on his lips. "What're you doing here, Mike? I know you're not an early-riser," 

"I was planning on grabbing an early shower so Chris wouldn't be hanging all over me," Mike gestured toward the towel thrown over his shoulder. "But I see you've beaten me to it." 

Chris continued to avoid looking anywhere but at his bunkmate, the feeling of Josh inside him no longer pleasing, but awkward. He felt guilty, dirty. He'd made his assumptions about Mike and Josh, and was prepared for Mike's. 

"I'll leave you two...to it. See you later, kid, and good luck. God knows you're gonna need it." 

Chris waited until Mike had departed to lift his head, arms woven around the older man's torso. "What happened with you guys?" 

Josh grunted as he pulled out, mourning the mood. "I'm crazy, but I'm not dumb...Oh _fuck_ ," he gruffly pulled himself away, Chris nearly toppling to the floor in the process. He shimmied into his clothing, halfway out the door by the time he'd gotten his bearings. 

Chris darted out behind him, catching up to the older inmate just as he turned into the room filled with bunks, some of the other prisoners already slowly joining the waking world. 

"What're you doing?" 

Josh ignored him, stalking straight toward his bunk, throwing open the doors to his assigned locker, then lifting up his mattress. Chris cast a nervous glance at the present C.O., who still seemed completely bored behind his magazine. 

" _Mike_!" Josh shouted, getting to his feet. He pushed past Chris, stomping toward he and Mike's shared bunks, to find his bed empty. "Where the fuck is Munroe?" 

"It's too early for this bullshit," one of the inmates grumbled from his bed. 

"Did I ask for your input?" Josh spat back. 

"Technically—" 

"Josh, slow down," Chris would've taken hold of Josh's hands, if not for the threat of punishment. So, he stepped in front of him, blocking his exit from the bunk, palms hovering in front of the older man's chest. "Why do you want Mike?" 

"The fucker took my meds. _All of them_." 

Chris' heart lept to his throat. "You gotta report it," 

"Yeah, because that'd go well: 'Hey, warden, guess what? The guy I've been giving my meds to decided to take all of them this morning to trade them out for his safety'." 

"Okay. This is fine. When do you need your next dose?" 

"Oh, just," Josh glanced over toward the wall clock across the room. "Right now." Josh began to tear apart Mike's bunk in search of his medication, looking surprisingly desperate for someone that supposedly hated being medicated. Chris started to question him, until it clicked. 

Withdrawals. 

Chris didn't have much medical knowledge, but had enough common sense to know that just stopping taking antipsychotics wasn't exactly safe. Hell, even the simplest of medications had lists of withdrawal symptoms decorating their bottles. 

"Sam'll know what to do. I can talk to her during my work detail. Can you make it that long?" 

Josh looked anywhere but at Chris, making a series of noncommittal noises. "I guess." The first bell for the day rang, the lights above them brightening. "M'gonna go lay down." 

* * *

Sam read the distress on Chris' face before he could speak a single word.

"What's wrong?" 

"What are the withdrawal symptoms for Josh's meds?" 

She tightened her grip on the article of clothing she was holding. "Vomiting, anxiety, he'll be agitated, his muscles will ache, not to mention his delusions will start up again...Has he gone off them?" 

"Not on purpose. He and Mike had this agreement, but he took all of them this morning," 

" _Bastard_!" Chris visibly flinched. Hearing Sam curse was not unlike hearing his mother curse for the first time. "Can't exactly report that, can he?" 

"That's what he said. I was hoping you'd have some idea of what to do." 

"Sam?" Hannah approached the table, holding a laundry basket in front of her chest. 

"Han..." 

"Josh is in trouble again, isn't he?" 

"I've got it!" Beth slapped a hand down onto a dryer to emphasize her point, demonstrating who the more outspoken one of the two twins was. "Josh gets a new prescription in only a few weeks. We just gotta get him through that, and he's home free," 

"But Josh is on an entirely different schedule. There's no way we could have someone watching him constantly," Hannah chimed in. 

Chris added, "Wouldn't someone notice if he starts losing it again?" 

"You'd be surprised by what the guards here will ignore. But Beth's idea is the best one we've got." 

And thus began what the foursome entitled Operation: Hide Josh's Withdrawals. 

* * *

When a C.O. came downstairs to escort them outside, Chris faked a succession of coughs to be dismissed to his bunk, where he found Josh, face-down, holding his extra undershirt. He responded to his greeting with a loud groan.

"How're you feeling?" 

"Like I got beat up. Then run over. By a bus." 

Chris approached the bed, taking a seat by Josh's feet."I didn't think it'd happen this fast," 

"I already wasn't taking enough. This punishment is just long-time coming." He didn't lift his head up from the pillow, but patted the space behind him. "Come share my pain." 

Chris maneuvered his way in the space behind Josh's form, back flush against the cold brick wall. The older man took hold of his arm, pulling it over his side, positioning his hand against his ribcage so that his heartbeat could be felt. 

"Did Sam have any ideas?" 

"Actually, Beth did. She said we could just fake it until your next prescription." 

"Yeah...Her and Han were always the smart ones," 

"What does that make you?" 

"The pretty one." 

"Still cracking jokes, even after getting hit by a bus," Chris chuckled into the crook of Josh's neck. He smelled of sweat, the prison's cheap detergent and something distinctly Josh, a contrast to the subtle, feminine scent he was used to snuggling up to at night. 

"You know I'm gonna beat the shit out of Mike later, right?" 

"No, you're not." 

"Gonna be hard not to." 

* * *

Mike finally made an appearance at dinner. With convincing, Josh excused himself from the meal. Chris took his normal seat next to him, Emily and Jess uncharacteristically silent.

"Where are they?" Chris asked. 

Mike shoved a spoonful of corn into his mouth. "Don't know what you're talking about." 

"Josh's pills." 

"I had a debt owed, and I paid it. ...How's he doing?" 

"He's going to go through withdrawal. Like, hardcore. Puking, seeing things." 

"Josh's strong. He'll be alright." 

Jessica stopped Chris just as he was exiting the cafeteria, fishing a plastic bag filled with small crackers out of her shirt and pressing them into his hand. 

"You said he's gonna be throwing up. These'll help settle his stomach." 

"Jess...Thank you," 

"Don't mention it." Her smile transitioned back to her usual scowl, arms crossed. "Seriously. Don't." 

* * *

The vomiting started the second day.

Chris joined Josh on the bathroom floor, rubbing circles onto his back between wretches when Mike wandered in. He hovered behind them for a moment, looking drastically older in the weak lighting. 

"Go away or I'll puke on you," Josh groaned. 

"Still kicking, huh?" 

"Not really the time," Chris chided, grimacing as Josh threw up again, stomach convulsing as he ran out of things to expel. 

"I wanted to see how he's doing," 

"Unless you're here to put me out of my misery, I don't care what you're here for," he aggressively flushed, turning to face Mike. "You're the reason I got my face shoved into a toilet in the middle of the night." 

"I didn't know all of this was gonna happen," he took a sympathetic seat on the stained tiled floor. "I never thought you'd stop supplying." 

"Yeah, because giving you free blowjobs wasn't enough; you had to have my meds, too," 

"Those were your idea in the first place!" 

Chris watched the exchange, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. When he'd been convicted, he never would've thought that he'd end up sitting on a bathroom floor at 1am while his bunkmate and friend who also occasionally put his dick in him argued about drugs and sexual favors, and that he would be rather unbothered by it. Mike had just started to describe he and Josh's first time together in explicit detail when he stepped in. 

"Can you guys discuss this later? Preferably when I'm not around?" 

"Aw," Josh leaned against him, top of his head poking against his chin. "Are you getting jealous?" 

" _No_. Just tired." He forced out a yawn. 

Mike laughed for what Chris guessed was the first time in days. "I think he's jealous," 

"Of course he is." Josh pushed himself closer, cheek resting on his shoulder. 

Chris sighed, gently patting Josh's face in place of looking at him. "Are you done puking up your guts?" 

"Mhm. But here come the migraines..." An exaggerated yawn. "...And exhaustion." 

"Let's get you to bed then," Chris fumbled to his feet, Josh's head bumping against the side of the stall. 

Josh did not move. "Carry me." 

"There's no way I can—" 

"I got it," Mike stood, shouldering past him. 

"You sure you can do it?" Josh muttered, voice lacking the edge he'd intended it to have. 

"You think I can't lift your scrawny ass?" Mike snorted, looping an arm under Josh's shoulders and the bend of his knees, picking him up with a strained groan. "See?" 

Chris chuckled halfheartedly at the display as they strolled down the hallway toward the bunk area, Josh and Mike exchanging weak quips as the eldest drifted in and out of consciousness, hands laced together on top of his belly. 

A modern-day Sleeping Beauty if there ever was one. 

* * *

Chris and Mike dragged Josh out of bed the following morning, collectively supporting him to the bathroom for his morning upchuck, then to the cafeteria where he slumped over the table, Jess and Emily taking turns trying to bounce breadcrumbs off the top of his head.

"Gotta eat something, bro," Mike said, sliding a cup of applesauce toward him. 

"That stuff looks like what I've been puking," Josh retorted, pushing the cup away. 

"You need something _to_ puke," Emily offered. 

"He _smells_ like puke," Jess pumped her fist in victory as one of her crumbs bounced directly off his head and onto the table. "He needs a shower." 

"I'm not bathing him," Mike retorted. "Chris can handle that. They already were taking showers together anyway," 

Jessica made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a giggle. "I knew it! Em, you owe me five—" 

"You bitch," The two women descended into one of their usual heated arguments while a blush decorated Chris' cheeks. He rested a hand onto Josh's bouncing knee, slowing it but not subsiding. He always had an exhausted look to his features, but he'd looked especially downtrodden that morning, limbs heavy and eyes unfocused. 

Josh, unstable or not, was supposed to be the resilient one. But he did not seem particularly strong hunched over an unfeeling metal table, curls filled with crumbs and breath reeking of vomit. 

* * *

Emily shared a work detail with Josh, and with the use of extra potato chips from commissary as a bribe, covered for him while Chris took him down to the laundry room, where he and the twins built a makeshift wall of folded sheets for him to hide behind as they worked.

Sam eventually wandered over to the wall, crouching down beside it and speaking to Josh in a hushed voice for over half an hour. By the time she returned to her place at the table across from Chris, she was crying. The twins took their own respective turns speaking to their brother as well, but their conversations were much louder and shorter, filled with scoldings and curses rather than tears. 

"Are you okay?" 

Sam sniffled, rubbing away any stray tears with her sleeve. "Yeah. I mean, we've all seen him like this before, so it shouldn't be a big deal by now, but..." 

"He's gonna be okay. This is only temporary." 

"I know, but, can we really trust him to not start handing out his medication again? Or Mike not to take them?" 

Chris held a sheet against his chest. "What are you saying?" 

"I want to report him." 

" _Are you insane?_ " 

"You've only known him a few weeks. Once those withdrawals are over, he won't want to start taking his meds again. He's good at talking his way out of things. If we turn him over, they'll get him a new prescription immediately -" 

"And throw him in solitary!" 

"Chris...You can't let your feelings get in the way here. He needs help, but he'll never ask for it. What would Ashley think?" 

She would be appalled that he'd dedicated so much time to hiding things from correctional officers, sat in a filthy bathroom floor in the middle of the night, and cheated on her with the same man he'd sat in that floor with. 

"Ashley has nothing to do with this." 

* * *

With Mike's added effort, Chris and the twins managed to keep Josh hidden throughout the day. Matt told him that he seemed on edge, but he promptly dismissed the issue, instead asking him about his favorite sports team, which kept him occupied for the remainder of the session, using terms Chris simply did not understand.

By the time the initial group of after-dinner showers had left, Josh was nearly dead weight as they escorted him toward the bathroom for his shower, where Chris started to realize just how much time he'd been spending in said restroom. 

He started the underwhelming shower, stripping Josh down while Mike stood just outside, keeping a diligent watch. 

Josh released a sharp gasp once guided underneath the water, forcing a series of coughs, posture slightly improving and eyes more alert. 

"Are you trying to drown me?" 

"No, just cleaning you up," Chris pushed his fogged glasses up to his hairline. "Mike, soap." 

"Cochise," Josh wrapped his arms around himself just as Mike tossed the bar of soap in Chris' direction, who missed it by a mile. "Who knew you were so romantic?" 

Chris stared down at the bar of soap just by his feet, then deadpanned: "I just dropped the soap." 

Both Mike and Josh cackled. 

Josh was ultimately the one to retrieve the soap, pressing it into Chris' palm, who in return, gave him a puzzled look. 

"Go on. _Clean me up_." He definitely had the monopoly on making absolutely anything sound dirty. 

Chris tentatively started to rub the bar against Josh's upper back, watching as his tense muscles relaxed, releasing what was damn near a purr as a lather formed. There was something almost tender about the act, even if accompanied by Josh´s less-than-innocent sounds.They'd been in that same shower before, but always in a rush and always undressed. Chris had never had the time to notice the faint hair on his chest, or how his stomach carried a little pudge: not as much as his own, but enough to be noticed. It was...cute. 

Mike's habit of interrupting, however, was less cute. 

"Hurry it up, guys," 

Chris promptly finished up, letting the soap flow its own way to more private areas. Josh opened his mouth to rinse it out under the weak stream of water before turning back to Chris, watching him with tired eyes. 

"Are you—" Chris never finished that sentence, words swallowed up by Josh's lips on his own. He responded with a surprised grunt: they'd never kissed before. He'd always thought that particular action was simply too intimate. 

The kiss only lasted a few moments, Josh smiling against his mouth before stepping away, swiftly pushing his glasses back into place. 

"Thank you. For everything." 

* * *

Chris faced a newfound guilt when he sat down across from Ashley a few days later, absentmindedly dusting his fingers over his lips every time she mentioned any aspect of their own relationship. She was in the middle of retelling what had happened to one of her coworkers earlier in the week when Chris caught Mike behind the window peering into the visitation room, swinging his arms around, presumably to get his attention.

"So there she is, in the middle of nowhere," 

Mike was mouthing something, but he couldn't quite make it out. 

"Out of gas, no cell reception," 

I'm queer? No. Mike would never come out so casually. 

"And she…" 

_Get out here_? 

"Are you even listening to me?" 

Chris snapped his attention back to Ashley, clearing his throat. "Of course I am." 

"What are you even looking at?" She stretched her back to peer over her boyfriend's shoulders, furrowing her brow at the sight of of an inmate with ripped sleeves doing what seemed to be a weak impression of breakdancing. "What the hell…?" 

"Yeah...that's Mike, my bunkmate." 

"Has anyone ever told Mike he can't dance?" She waved at him, bringing his dancing to a stop. "Does he normally do that?" 

"No, this is the first time. He probably just wants to ask if he can borrow my toothbrush again." More lies. It had become disturbingly easy for him to lie to his girlfriend. 

"You share toothbrushes in here?" 

"And underwear," 

Ashley poked her tongue out in disgust. "It's like having hundreds of siblings all at once. Wait...I think he´s doing the YMCA dance now," 

" _What_?" Chris swiveled around in his seat, turning to face his bunkmate. He was in fact not doing the YMCA, but spelling out a different set of letters with his arms. John? Joe? Josh? 

Josh. Something was wrong with Josh, and Mike's bad dancing was to alert him. 

"Is it okay if I leave early? He's not gonna let up—" 

Ashley blinked, looking surprisingly wounded. "But we just started talking," 

Chris' gaze lingered on his bunkmate before he returned his focus to Ashley. Josh got his attention every other day of the week, and even if he was lying throughout half their conversation, Ashley deserved the same amount, if not more of his dedication. 

"You're right." 

* * *

Chris had taken only a few steps out of the visiting area when a hand made viscious contact with his face, making him stumble and his eyes water. He touched the cheek that had been struck, turning back toward his attacker. Emily. He didn't know why he'd expected anybody else. Even Mike couldn't hit that hard.

"What the hell were you thinking?" 

"What the hell did I _do_?" Emily placed an iron grip on his forearm, dragging him down the hall, not relinquishing her touch even when they passed a guard. They were probably just as terrified of her. 

Who wouldn't be? 

"All the goddamn chips in the world wouldn't be enough for this." 

"Can you please tell me what 'this' is?" They were getting dangerously close to Matt's office. Was she planning to turn him in? 

"God, you're thick. It's Josh! Who else? Even a blind person could see that he's gone off the deep end." They approached Matt's office, Emily throwing the door open with enough aggression to make Matt flinch behind his desk. Across from him sat Mike and the twins, their heads hanging. 

"Thank you, Em. I'll speak with you later." 

Emily dropped her hand, giving Chris a single push toward the others before backing out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

There were no more free seats, so he hung near the doorway, shuffling uncomfortably, eyes low and arms crossed. 

"I received some intel from an inmate, who will remain anonymous, that the four of you have been concealing something from the other guards and I. And that is…" 

None of them said a word, but they all simultaneously deduced that the anonymous source was Sam. 

"...A severely mentally ill inmate's withdrawal from his medication. Medication he is _required_ to take. Medication that keeps him from hallucinating, not unlike the incident today—" 

"Wait, what incident?" Chris cupped a hand over his mouth, humiliated by his own interruption. 

Mike cocked his head in his direction and mumbled, "When you were having visitation he got out of control." 

Chris' blood ran cold. That was why Mike had been so desperate for his attention. Josh needed him, and he wasn't there. 

"I honestly don't know the proper way to punish you all," Matt covered his face with his hand, dejectedly shaking his head. "I've come to expect something like this from you, Munroe, but dragging others down with you?" 

"Hey, I did not _drag_ anybody down—" 

"It was my idea," Hannah interjected. "Josh flushed all his meds down the toilet, and I convinced everyone else to hide his withdrawals. It was all me -" 

Beth audibly gasped. "Han, don't—" 

"You don't have to lie for me anymore!" Beth shrank back in her seat, and an even newer layer of guilt settled onto Chris' shoulders. "Sir, if anyone's to blame here, it's me. I deserve the blunt end of the punishment." 

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm disappointed, but it's for the best that you got caught. Go on down to solitary. I expect you can do that properly?" 

Hannah nodded solemnly, shouldering past Chris. She'd had the least involvement in their scheme, but was taking the fall for it. 

Matt scratched idly at his hair. "I should toss all of you in solitary right now, and throw away the goddamn key. But, your friend just saved your asses. I'm taking away your outside privileges for the next three weeks. Washington, you can go." Beth exited promptly, visibly shocked by the light punishment. 

"You two will be cleaning the bathrooms for those three weeks as well. You're dismissed." Yet again, Chris would be spending his evenings in the bathroom. He considered moving a bed in. 

While Mike immediately left the confines of the office, Chris took the seat he'd occupied, leaning forward on his knees. 

"Where is he now?" 

"Chris…" 

"I'm sorry. It sounds dumb now, but we only wanted to help him." 

Matt gazed back up at him, looking significantly older. "I talked the warden out of putting him in our maximum security area, so he's going to be kept in solitary until the meds kick in again. Once he's deemed competent he'll be released back among the rest of us, under closer supervision." 

Chris nodded, mimicking Matt's hand's position over his face. "Can I skip our session today? I'm really tired." 

"Yeah. I didn't have time to buy coffee, anyway." 

Chris found Mike loitering in Josh's bunk, holding the magazine he'd been reading on Chris' first day of incarceration. He hovered just outside, watching as Mike's eyes roamed across the glossy paper. 

"What happened today?" 

Mike sighed, tossing the magazine back onto the mattress. "Honestly? I don't know. I found him here, just talking to himself. Other guys were starting to notice so I sorta slapped him—" 

"You _what_?" 

"It wasn't that hard. Just enough to get his attention. But he went fuckin' ballistic. I went to get you, you blew me off. Sam must've had some Spidey sense about it or something, 'cause they escorted Josh right out of here and sent Emily after you." 

"I didn't know…" Chris mumbled, more for himself as he approached the bed, pillowcase still drenched with sweat. "They put him in solitary. Have you ever been?" 

"Yeah, once, early on." 

"What was it like?" 

"Fuckin' miserable. You think the food here's bad? Half the time they don't even bother to feed you in there. It's either too quiet or all you hear is the other assholes in there shouting at the guards or themselves. I wouldn't wish it on anybody, even Psycho." 

"Don't call him that," Chris scolded, voice barely more than a whisper. He sat on the bed. "He hated that word." 

"Little premature with the past tense. He's not dead." Mike joined him on the bed, fidgeting as he tried to determine the best place to put his hands. He settled on stiffly patting the blond's back. "He'll be back before you know it, and you guys can gay it up in peace." 

Chris curled his hand into a fist, placing it over his mouth as his breath hitched in an all-too-familiar way. "He doesn't deserve punishment. He's sick. He needs help." The final syllable trembled. There were things that were embarrassing, and there was crying about your crazy prison fling in front of Mike Munroe. 

He wanted nothing more than to curl up on the bed in his own pity party, but he didn't want the threat of catching Josh's familiar scent amongst his blankets. 

Operation: Hide Josh's withdrawals was over, and he was beginning to take things very seriously.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woah it got even gayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> though i never know how to reply to them, i seriously appreciate all of the comments u guys leave. <3 i was especially nervous about taking on this au because i'd have to keep such a large group in character simultaneously, but going by the responses, i actually pulled it off!! yay!! im definitely gaining the confidence that i basically lacked in my own writing via this ~~sin~~ fic  
> [my tumblr](http://killedtherichkid.tumblr.com/)

Chris ignored Sam the following day, and the days after. She did not attempt to speak to him, and neither did Beth, leaving the laundry room in an uncomfortable silence. Jess and Mike put more effort into conversing with him, even Emily occasionally offered a 'how are you doing', presumably out of guilt rather than empathy.

He learned a lot about his bunkmate as they were elbow-deep in cleaning supplies; his favorite color, (red), TV show, (Oprah, surprisingly), and that he'd received a full ride to his school that he'd lost when he'd been convicted. Mike, in spite of his silly nickname and inclination for doing dumb things, was genuinely intelligent, and a nice guy. With the exception of his drug dealing. 

Chris was nearly done mopping up the floor, marveling at just how dirty one tile could really be when Mike dropped his rag into the sink, approaching him. 

"Dude, check it out," Chris grimaced as he reached into his pants, retrieving a dinged up can of soda. "Found it in Matt's office the other day." 

Chris propped himself up against the mop handle, quirking a brow. "I'm not really interested in something that's been that close to your balls." 

Mike shrugged. "Suit yourself." he popped the can open, bubbles spilling onto his hands and chest as he poured it directly into his mouth, groaning in pleasure like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. "Fuck. That's some good shit." 

Chris flashed an enamored smile. Who could resist warm soda when Mike was making it look that good? "Okay, man. I'll have some." 

"Alright man, party hard," Mike handed the can over, rubbing his hands clean on the front of his shirt. 

Chris took a slightly less enthusiastic swig of the drink, carbonation bringing tears to his eyes. It wasn't nearly as tasty as Mike had made it look, but was still miles away from his usual beverage of lukewarm water in a greasy plastic cup. 

"You were right. That's good." Chris wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand as he returned the soda, Mike displaying a shit-eating grin before taking another sip. 

Mike climbed up onto the sink counter, entirely too reminiscent of how Chris used to spend his evenings. 

"Pour one out for him," Chris said, gesturing toward the can. 

"He's not dead." Chris replied with a stern glare. "Fine," he poured a conservative amount of soda into the sink, grumbling something about attracting ants. 

* * *

The first night after the end of their bathroom chores Chris was awoken from his shoulders being shaken. He jolted into consciousness, to find Mike's face hovering over his own.

"Jesus…" he hissed. "What do you want?" 

"Follow me." Was all Mike said as he tugged his bunkmate out of bed, not even stopping to let him step into his shoes. They quietly ran through the lonely hallways, crouching every time they passed a door with a light on inside. Mike led him into restroom clearly labelled for women's use. 

"Mike…" he warned. He wasn't particularly a fan of voyeurism. 

"Shh," Mike guided him deeper into the restroom, to the far wall where a small window rested on the wall, completely ajar, the gentle scent of rain drifting inside. 

" _Holy shit_." 

"Shh!" 

"Sorry." Chris lowered his voice, balancing on his toes to peer out the window. "How did you…" 

"Jess told me about it at lunch." 

As if on cue, Jessica's face appeared through the open window, her smile betraying more joy than he'd ever seen in the time he'd known her, braids drenched. She extended a hand. 

"C'mon, before someone sees," 

Chris took hold of the blonde's hand, allowing himself to be pulled through the window with Mike pushing at his backside. They managed to squeeze him through, tumbling gracelessly to his belly as Mike climbed his way out behind him. 

Droplets of rain had already begun to take residence on his glasses, a smile creeping onto his lips. He'd never thought he'd be so thrilled to breathe in fresh air with grass stains on his knees. 

"Onward!" Mike declared, pointing into the inky blackness of the night. Chris squinted in the direction he'd pointed to, spotting nothing but the faint outline of a small building. 

"Onward to where?" 

"You'll find out when we get there, buddy." 

Chris stumbled after Jessica and Mike as they ran ahead into the darkness, laughing until their mouths filled with raindrops, hands clasped together, occasionally pulling one another into a clumsy kiss, temporarily in love with everyone and everything. He sighed, taking his place as the ultimate third wheel. 

Running in the rain quickly became an annoyance as his scrubs were weighed down by the water, glasses fogged and the air cold. The small building came into view, a sleeping female guard visible through a barred window. 

The trio crouched underneath the window, laughter dying down. Jess still looked stunning as ever, even with mascara smudged around her eyes. Mike made a hands-down gesture, motioning for them to stay put as he crept along the outside wall, disappearing around a corner. 

"What is this place?" Chris whispered. 

"Solitary, dummy," Jess whispered back, squeezing excess water from her braids. 

Solitary. Josh was only a few walls away, probably deep in a fitful sleep with an empty stomach and clouded mind. Was he the reason Mike had dragged him outside? Had he been dragged into some hasty prison break? 

"Are we trying to break out?" 

Jessica scoffed. "What? No. Em would _kill_ us if we got out without her. We're just letting your psycho boyfriend out for some fun." 

"He's not my—" 

Mike rounded the corner yet again, accompanied by a slouching Josh, who was rubbing at his eyes. His hair was even more out of control than it had once been. He looked bad, but it was good to see him somewhere besides a bathroom floor. 

Chris stood, approaching just as Josh finished rubbing at his eyes, revealing a dark purple bruise. 

"Mike! You said you didn't hit him that hard!" 

"What makes you think that's from me?" 

"Got it when the guards came to get me," Josh mumbled, stance unsteady. "Jess is here," His voice was barely audible, eyes just as unfocused as they'd been during his withdrawals. 

"Hey," Jess replied softly, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. "Wanna go for a walk?" Josh nodded slowly, allowing himself to be lead away from the building, Mike and Chris trailing behind. He doubted she'd be as kind if she knew he'd had her boyfriend's dick down his throat a month prior. 

"Is he okay?" Chris asked, not averting his eyes from Josh's back. 

"Yeah. Just high as a kite. It'll take him a few more days to get used to the pills again." 

"So this really has happened before?" 

"More times than I can count. He's a real fucked up guy. But," Mike slapped a hand onto the center of his back, causing him to trip a few steps forward. "He'll be alright. Always is. Now go steal _your_ boyfriend back from _my_ girlfriend." 

"He's not my boyfriend," Chris muttered in a weak retort, stepping toward the two inmates. He tapped Jessica's shoulder. "May I have this dance?" 

She cracked a smile. He didn't think he'd ever made her smile before. "Why, of course," she replied in a mock British accent, falling out of step with Josh so Chris could take her place. 

"It's cold," Josh murmured. Chris spotted that his sleeves had been rolled up underneath his scrubs, and with careful hands, rolled them back down for him. 

"Better?" 

Another spacey nod. "Better. ...You're not wearing any shoes," 

Chris looked down at his exposed feet, covered in wet grass. "Mike didn't give me time to put any on." 

Josh, gaze still lingering on nowhere particular in the darkness, snaked a hand down his forearm, intertwining their fingers. Every so often he'd give it a squeeze, like he was expecting it to not be there anymore. Maybe he didn't. Chris looked at his free hand: he looked pretty real for a potential hallucination. 

"In the entire time I've known you, I think this is the longest you've ever been so quiet," Chris said. They'd never been like this, grasping at straws for conversation. 

"Don't have anything to say." 

_Wrong_. The eldest Washington always had something to say. He was just too delirious to remember that. 

"Well, uh, we've missed you. Including Mike; he's just an asshole. But he feels bad about what happened," 

"Nobody in their right mind would miss me," Josh replied, quoting Jessica. 

Chris swallowed. "I'm sure she was joking when she said that—" 

"No, it's fine. I get it." His smile was a weak replica of his normal one. 

Chris turned back, checking if Jess and Mike were having anymore luck on the social front. Naturally, Mike had his tongue down her throat again. No wonder they never had any disagreements or awkward silences: they never talked. 

"Do you like running?" 

"No—" Josh took off without further warning, dragging Chris along behind him. After a few feet his glasses flew off, tumbling off into the night, his breathing already heavy, heart threatening to burst through his ribcage. 

"Josh, my glasses," he grasped at the stitch forming in his side. Josh pulled him along for another yard before coming to a stop, tilting his head upward to laugh as Chris collapsed into the dirt. 

Josh whooped loud enough to make the others nervous of being caught, stretching his arms over his head, spinning in a tight circle as the downpour increased. 

"You've killed me," Chris groaned, rolling over to his back. Josh joined him in the grass, patting the center of his chest sympathetically. 

"Here lies Christopher: the blondest, wimpiest man I ever knew. Gone but not forgotten. Amen." 

Chris coughed in reply. "My _glasses_ are gone but not forgotten—" 

Josh extended a hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Chris squinted, making out the blurry appendages through the unforgiving rain. 

"Three…?" 

"Bingo. You don't even need them." 

"Says the guy who does not wear glasses," Chris covered his eyes with an arm, mourning his lost accessory. He could function without them—he had for the majority of his life—but being able to tell the difference between your crazy friend and a _dangerously_ crazy stranger was especially important when in prison. 

Josh, hair weighed down from the rain, curled into him, head resting on his shoulder, just like he'd done whenever they'd shared a bunk. He'd originally struck Chris as a strictly no-cuddling type of guy, considering his inclination for no-strings-attached blowjobs, but turned out to be a surprisingly enthusiastic little spoon. 

Joshua Washington: part time mentally unstable prison inmate, part time cuddler. It had a nice ring to it. 

"Y'know you're gonna get in trouble for this, right?" Josh said, noncommittally gesturing toward the stains their clothes were equally littered in. 

"It'll be worth it." He turned his head, watching as Josh stared up at the stars above them, eyes still partially hazy, lips parted just as they'd been that fateful night on the bathroom counter. 

He knew then that he was honest-to-god, head over heels for Joshua Washington. 

* * *

Chris did, in fact, get in trouble. Matt's compassion did not carry over a second time; he didn't know his voice could get that damn _loud_ , and that he possessed such a colorful vocabulary. The ventilation window in the women's bathroom was promptly barred, and he received a week in solitary confinement. Though unfortunate, he was quite sure that any other guard would have tacked on extra time to his sentence.

Solitary was as appealing as Mike had made it out to be: a tiny, grey room with an equally tiny bed against the far wall, and a combination of a toilet and sink across from it. 

He shed many tears during the last two days. The world abruptly crashed into him, reminding him of Josh and Ashley, broken promises and glasses. There was nothing to distract him from his own guilt. Hannah had already been there for weeks with no freedom in sight alongside her brother, and Ashley would visit that Saturday to find that he could not attend. 

He was released from solitary bleary-eyed and grateful for the feeling of aggressive inmates shouldering past him as he returned to his bunk, a recently freed Mike not-so-subtly going through his things. 

Home. 

He discarded his grudge with Sam upon his return. They fell back into their usual lighthearted conversations with ease, and even Beth rejoined them, if not a tad reluctantly. Hannah had yet to return. 

* * *

Chris could not get himself seated at their table before Emily's lip curled in the way it always did when she was up to something.

"Guess who's back," She cocked her head toward the other side of the cafeteria. Chris, Jess, and Mike all turned to see a relatively normal-looking Josh, hair slicked back in its usual manner and eyes clear as he approached the door to leave. 

Chris followed after him with purpose, leaving his untouched tray behind. 

"Josh!" 

No reply. The route he was taking was uncomfortably familiar; Chris had _just_ started to not spend half of his day in the men's restroom, and Josh was leading him right back. 

"Are you feeling better?" 

Josh snorted just as they turned into the restroom. "Oh, I'm just peachy, Cochise. In fact, I'm lucid," he stomped through, checking each stall, and after finding them empty turned back to Chris. "Lucid enough to see the _bullshit_ you pulled." 

"I don't understand—" 

His strides were long."It's your fault that I got solitary. After _just_ getting back out—" 

Chris backed against the wall. "Wait, wait, wait. If anyone's to blame here, it's Mike! He's the one that took your meds in the first place," 

Josh threaded his fingers through his disheveled hair, head shaking in disbelief. "After everything. After I _kissed_ you. You just left me there, alone—" 

It was Chris' turn to loom. "I did not leave you. I was in visitation after spending a week watching you puke out your guts out—" 

"You chose—" 

"I chose Ashley! And I will always choose Ashley." His voice cracked with every other syllable, but going by the hurt etched onto Josh's face, his words still made their point. "We are not boyfriends. We are lonely people in prison." He gave the older man a single shove to separate them. 

Josh immediately reciprocated, balling the front of his shirt in his fists, hurt replaced by anger. They held one another's unforgiving glares, panting. Josh's touch, though anything but kind, was the first he'd felt since the night they'd snuck out. 

"God," Josh exhaled, letting go of his shirt. "You look so stupid without glasses." 

Another shove. "Fuck you." 

Josh pushed back, hard enough to send him back up against the wall with a resounding _thud_. "Fuck you." 

Neither could decipher which one of them initiated the kiss that followed their swears, only that both were just as eager as the other to carry it out. 

The kiss was nothing like the first, tenderness and affection replaced with the clacking of teeth and underlying fear of being caught in the act. Josh's hands found their way to his hair, messy and unstyled, forcing his head backward to suck and bite at his exposed neck. 

It was irrational and unplanned, aggressive and downright _hot_ , and could be ended if someone just happened to walk in. But Josh made no move to stop. 

And Chris didn't want him to. 

Josh gave him a surly push toward the sink in lieu of picking him up, separating their mouths to continually guide him forward, spinning him around. Chris fell against the sink onto his elbows, turning back with an expression bordering on panic. 

"Wait a minute," 

"Shut up. I'm still pissed at you," 

Chris' expression changed to one of astonishment. "So your solution is _sex_?" They'd been fighting only minutes before. Had people started fighting with their dicks? Yet another prison thing he'd have to learn. 

"No," Josh retorted, bending him further over the counter. "I'm going to _fuck_ you until I'm not pissed anymore." 

Chris laughed nervously, out of sheer instinct. Ashley had always been annoyed by the habit, but he doubted that would be her only complaint if she were present. 

Josh slipped a hand underneath both of his shirts to pull them off in one fell swoop, only increasing the vulnerability of his situation. If they were interrupted, there would be no time for him to dive into hiding or play it off, only to stand in shame. Josh kept himself fully clothed, and Chris suspected this was on purpose, a subtle way of instilling his control over the situation and it made him squirm. 

He kept his hands cemented against the counter, shivering as Josh's fingers brushed along his throat, ascending to his mouth, tapping two against his lips, asking for permission. Even in the midst of a self-entitled fuck he could not shed his courtesy. Chris obliged, opening his mouth and sucking the digits with earnest. 

Josh made a pleased noise before guiding a hand down the front of the blond's ill-fitting pants, taking hold of his cock abruptly enough to make him gasp, sputtering past the digits. Josh withdrew them with a scowl, pulling his pants down gruffly enough to make him stumble. 

"Fucking hell, man," he breathed, speaking more to himself. The other times they'd been together Josh always brought _something_ along with him, or at least gave him time to...adjust. But the situation lacked the time and Josh lacked the patience. 

Before he could register anything else, Josh's fingers were scissoring him open, the curses already flowing past his lips, more pain than pleasure, focused only on the burn of being stretched and erection pressed uncomfortably against the cold counter. His own enjoyment was not the focus of this encounter, only an outlet for weeks worth of pent-up frustration. It wasn't exactly the most healthy of ways to interact, but maybe he deserved a bit of manhandling after all the things he was guilty of doing in his time spent incarcerated. 

He kept his eyes squeezed shut and legs spread as the tip of the older man's cock breached him, responding with a series of quick gasps that were efficiently silenced by Josh's hips digging into his skin, teeth pressing down onto the space where his neck met his shoulder. 

"Y'know, I distinctly remember you saying you didn't bite—holy shit—" He had shifted just enough to brush against _that one spot_ , adequately erasing any of his quips he had on-hand. "Fuck, Josh. _Fuck_." 

His laugh was husky from arousal. "That's what I'm doing, Cochise." 

"No, you're not. You're talking." 

Josh's authoritative tone returned as he took hold of his throat, speaking directly into his ear. "You want me to fuck you?" Chris choked out another nervous chuckle. "Bend you over this counter and fuck you until you can't walk straight?" The final syllable was feeble as he pressed his forehead against Chris' shoulder blade, releasing an equally nervous laugh. 

"Stop laughing at my dirty talk. I'm supposed to be mad at you." 

"Sorry, sorry," 

"No, it's okay. That stuff sounded straight out of a porno anyway. Still gonna fuck you, though." 

While it was most likely not Josh's intention, Chris came first, almost standing up, arching his back toward Josh's chest, repeatedly gasping his name like both a prayer and curse. 

After Josh was spent, neither had the energy or desire to clean up or move. If they were anywhere else, in the real world, they wouldn't have to. Chris could lay with his face buried in a pillow and a panting Josh snuggled against him, falling asleep together in a bed that could adequately hold them. 

Josh hurriedly redressed him, using the back of his own sleeve to clean up any remaining mess while Chris stayed bent over the counter, cheek pressed against a counter that would disgust him to have his face anywhere near if he wasn't so tired. 

"Gotta go," 

"M'exhausted," Chris mumbled back. 

"That good, huh?" Josh rubbed his back, leaning down to press his lips against the space behind his ear. Another act that was entirely too close to something intimate. "I'd love to let you fall asleep on this filthy ass counter, but we're dead meat if we stay in here any longer. Just think: in like, five more hours you can fall asleep next to my fine self under the thinnest blanket in the world." 

"Mmm. Can't wait." 

_Absolutely head over heels_.

As he stood, he saw a lone ant crawl across the sink.


End file.
